


Who Am I?

by Paresse



Series: We Don't Have To Be What You Want [3]
Category: Karakuridouji Ultimo
Genre: Comfort, Existential Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paresse/pseuds/Paresse
Summary: On the verge of an existential crisis, back in time before the good doji appear to throw everything into chaos again, Vice finds comfort from an unlikely source.





	Who Am I?

"Who am I? If I'm not evil." Smoke drifting across the night sky, reflecting the lights of the city below, the slums that occupy it. Tobacco does nothing but singe his throat. There's no euphoria, no rush, no addiction. But again Paresse watches as Vice lifts the cigarette to his lips, shoulders dropped, uniform eschew. He says nothing. He has his own cylinder of cancer between his fingers. Not that it'll even do that to them. He just listens as Vice continues when that smoke leaves his lungs.

"I've got nothing else." Tangled black hair shifts as he shakes his head, "I don't even know why I'm telling you any of this. The good dôji aren't even here. We've still got a year before they arrive in this time. Still it claws at my sphere like Ultimo is right here. Telling me things that make me think. Make me hurt. It feels so stupid." Vice's head falls into his hands, "You probably think I'm weak for all of this shit--"

"Boss…"

"Pathetic and a terrible waste of a dôji--"

_ "Vice." _

Paresse's voice is firm, loud. It shocks Vice into silence as he looks up at the dôji of sloth. A heaving sigh of exasperation leaves Paresse and he groans tiredly as he sits up off the wall, "No offense, boss, but shut the fuck up." He flicks the butt off the edge of the building. Gold and green eyes follow the glowing embers as they disappear to the wind and the streets below.

"You're Vice. You hate alcohol, but especially champagne. You drink calpico like a religion. You like Rage's dry humor even if it flies over the rest of our heads. You like K's cooking--for some god forsaken reason. You smoke even if it doesn't do shit. You miss video games, you like the ones with lots of gore, but it also has to have a decent story. You like the sound of stones bounced off brick walls. You love how heavy the fabric of your uniform is. Your favorite color is gold."

Vice's eyes are locked on the place where he lost sight of the embers. He's not really seeing anything any more. He only vaguely registers Paresse getting up.

"You're still you. Evil might be a part of that, sure. But I've never thought of it as all you are. Rage isn't all anger, he's also obsessively tidy and a snark to end snarks. Jealousy isn't all envy, he likes the way suits feel and he hates his hair in his face. Every one of us is more than what Dunstan assigned us. Just because we all have our place doesn't mean that's all we are."

It's a long time before Vice can move again. Not even breathing. He looks over his shoulder. Paresse is gone. He leans back and knocks his head against the wall, eyes to the sky. The moon has moved significantly. He pin points every planet in the sky. Nine hundred years. Countless nights staring at this same sky. Watching it change as the centuries pass. He knows every one of them.

They fall finally on Jupiter.


End file.
